I can’t stop.
“Just like that,” I hear her whisper. “Right there.”
I spread my hand across the wood, my dick pressing against the zipper of my jeans as I close my eyes. I want to know who she’s imagining between those delectable thighs, who she’s quietly commanding to just the right spot.
The image of her lying on that bed, possibly fisting the sheets, fills my mind. It’s all I can see in the darkness. She curses again, this time more frantic.
“Maddox.”
I shove off the door at the sound of her high-pitched moan. My eyes feel like they’re about to bulge out of my head.
My name.
She was moaning…
Son of a bitch.
“Maddox,” I hear her continue. “Fuck, right there.”
It takes every bit of restraint I have not to open that door and go inside to give her a real reason to whimper…
My name.
My. Fucking. Name.
My forehead meets the door again, my eyes closing as a muffled groan sounds from within me. I wonder how she looks naked on the bed. I wonder if those pouting lips are parted. If her eyes are closed or open as her chin juts toward the ceiling.
She moans out my name again.Again.
I ball up a fist and nearly hit the door out of frustration.
I should have fucking kissed her.
Why didn’t I kiss her?
Another wonderful little whimper sounds from her. I’m straining against my pants, the ache causing my muscles to tense. The next moan is muffled, the noise of my name once more sounding from her lips is like an echo that I can’t tell is real.
Her voice is a broken record in my ears. It’s playing over and over. The fantasy of what she would look like beneath me invades my every thought. Her tits bouncing. Her soft thighs squeezing my hips. My hand on her throat. The gasping look of surprise on her face as I plunge inside her tight pussy.
There’s another indistinct wail from the other side of the door, and I know she’s getting close. I can hear her short breaths—or at least, I can in the fiction running through my head. Her cries sound more frantic. My name escapes her lips again.Again.
“Come for me, beautiful,” I whisper aloud, wondering if somehow the darkness might carry my plea through this threshold and utter it in her ear as I want to do myself.
I need to know the look on her face as she comes.
I want to memorize it.
“Fucking come for me,” I hiss. “Cry out my name.”
A plea sounds from inside—a cry that nearly sends me throwing myself into her room to watch that look of satisfaction cross her face. And when she wails out my name…
My fist slams into the door frame.
It rattles and quakes as her orgasm crashes.
Silence swells on the other side.
Shit.
